Isn't it ironic?

Don't you think?

Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to go all Alanis Morissette circa 1996 on you. I thought you may want to share in my I-have-an-annoying-song-in-my-head-for-days-dilemma. No?

At the beginning of this outreach a patient was referred to palliative care with what appeared to be terminal cancer. All signs pointed towards cancer, and as he progressively declined we went on believing his original diagnosis was correct. A few weeks ago he was admitted to the TB clinic in the city. You may remember me talking about it right....here.
Turns out he may only have TB, not necessarily lymphoma (can be commonly confused with limited tools to help diagnose), which quite honestly is fantastic news.
As we pulled in yesterday to see our patient who has steadily been improving I was planning on a quick visit to drop some things off as we were running a bit late.

Rewind for just a second (read: I don't know where to fit this part of the story in so I am going to randomly throw it in here)

On Wednesday afternoon after a couple of weeks of not feeling so great I went to the crew doctor to get checked out. Being a nurse I had delayed this for enough time that by Wednesday I could hardly keep my eyes open from being so tired and worn out. He ran the normal series of labs and planted a tuberculosis skin test, although both of us suspected my malaria meds were likely to blame seeing as though I had several symptoms associated with bad reactions to the medication.

On Thursday morning I woke up with a swollen red mark on my arm where the test had been done. For anyone who is not an American reading this you can go ahead and roll your eyes, but you Americans know this is NOT normal for us. I'm pretty sure if I went into work at the states they would run, scream, and throw on hazmat suits until everything I touched had been decontaminated. Ok, maybe not, but we don't ever see any reaction when we get tested once a year. We aren't exposed to it, and not immunized against it (which will show a reaction) in the states. I wasn't concerned. The test, if anything, at that point showed that I have been exposed to TB here (I'm no expert but I suppose the direct coughing of infected people on me may have something to do with that). It was not showing I have an active infection so all was good. I would however by lying if I didn't say I felt a little disconcerted every time I caught a glimpse of my arm through the corner of my eye.

so.......
back to the hospital. Me and my red arm were pulling into the grounds and to my right our patients son takes off in a sprint, chasing after the car. This once shy boy ran up and I was greeted with a big hug, (the kind where arms wildly arc out and then wrap tightly around your waist) and wide smile after our standard handshake. A lot of the kids here are absolutely beautiful. This boy in particular stands out. He has long scars on his cheekbones from voodoo practices over him as a baby where they strategically cut small slits on the face as a protection. They provide an incredible dimension to his complexion, add that to his liquid black eyes that shine when he smiles and you can't help but adore him.

We went into the room where our patient is staying. As we sat down on the bed across from him I was already grabbing some medication to restock his supply while telling him he looked strong and asking how things were going.

I watched his face fall as he hoarsely started speaking to my translator. Followed by an eerie silence my translator began telling me that the patient was just told he has AIDS by his doctor. The day before one of his wives (I know, long story) came in and told him she had tested positive. The same day his other wife, who is currently carrying their 4th child, also said she had tested positive.

My patient looked at me and although he spoke a foreign language to my ears I somehow understood.
"If this is true than why am I even on this earth?"

I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. I watched his mothers head lower, hanging heavy. I felt myself tense when I realized that there is a good chance the little boy who just excitedly greeted us was also likely infected. I felt a devastatingly gross sinking in my heart thinking about the other 2 kids and the baby still on the way, completely innocent to the fact its whole family is HIV positive and it too will be subjected to the disease.

More than anything, what do I say?

I apologized. Why? I don't know. I have no idea where the words I spoke came from. No, its not treatable. No we don't have medicine on the ship. No, no, no. How do you preach hope when you temporarily can't believe there is any? When you have forgotten for that sick moment that God is sovereign above all things.
"You are here for a reason. God wants you here. We will support you and love your family regardless. We will pray for and with you"
And now for a more honest look into what was going through my mind:
"Get me out of here. I am not equipped for this conversation. WHAT am I supposed to say? We are running late. Maybe we can talk about this later. Please change the subject"
I'm not proud of it. I hate that my mind immediately took off in a sprint to my own discomfort in the situation. But, as always, God's beauty and grace shines brightest when I am reduced to nothing, and the conversation went on despite myself.
I'm still coping a bit with how to wrap my head around all of this. For 2 months I prayed for a man we thought was dying only to find out his disease was different and curable. Within a week that extreme joy is replaced with nausea and a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach over a different death sentence, this time one that includes his whole family.

I titled this post "Isn't it ironic" not because I necessarily believe in irony, or think this is a case of it. I have been really thinking a lot about it over the last 24 hours. To say something is ironic would indicate to me that this guy got a crappy deal and that's all there is to it. Its pessimistic ideology, really. I don't worship a God who lets horrible things happen without reconciliation or redemption. I hope you don't either.
In all of this I learned some valuable lessons in faith, and gained perspective on the little red bump on my arm when I bowed my head to pray with my patient yesterday, holding his hand, fighting back tears, desperate to find solid ground for my thoughts to rest on.
I may never understand half of what I experience here, but I will not yield to any thought process that tries to seduce me into thinking anything besides the fact that my God will reign, and that He will be victorious.

A black fly in your Chardonnay isn't cool, but pick it out and get over it.

Romans 8:28
"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."

Oh, and the advantage of writing this today is I can tell you I don't have TB, which is pretty cool. I was sick from my malaria meds which called for a simple switch and now after just two days I'm back to normal (whatever that means).